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Our Little Armenian Cousin 




The Little Cousin Series 

ILLUSTRA TED 

& 

By Mary Hazelton Wade 

Our Little African Cousin 
Our Little Armenian Cousin 
Our Little Brown Cousin 
Our Little Cuban Cousin 
Our Little Eskimo Cousin 
Our Little German Cousin 
Our Little Hawaiian Cousin 
Our Little Indian Cousin 
Our Little Irish Cousin 
Our Little Italian Cousin 
Our Little Japanese Cousin 
Our Little Jewish Cousin 
Our Little Mexican Cousin 
Our Little Norwegian Cousin 
Our Little Philippine Cousin 
Our Little Porto Rican Cousin 
Our Little Russian Cousin 
Our Little Siamese Cousin 
Our Little Swiss Cousin 
Our Little Turkish Cousin 

By Blanche McManus 

Our Little English Cousin 
Our Little French Cousin 

By Elizabeth Roberts MacDonald 

Our Little Canadian Cousin 

By Isaac Taylor Headland 

Our Little Chinese Cousin 

By H. Lee M. Pike 

Our Little Korean Cousin 

Each volume illustrated with six full-page plates in tint, from original 

drawings. 

Cloth, i2mo, with decorative cover, per volume, 60 cents. 

J* 

L. C. PAGE & COMPANY 
New England Building, Boston, Mass. 









“ARTIN PATTED THE SHEEP” 

(See page 7 ) 






Our Little 
Armenian Cousin 


By 

Mary Hazelton Wade 


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Illustrated by 

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Boston 

L. C. Page & Company 


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UBRAHY of OONGHESS 
fwu Copies rtecciveU 

JUL 21 1905 

Uopyn«iu ciiiry 

QdriZy2s./<?0-*$~ 
a AAc. Nw 

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COPY B. 



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Copyright , iQOg 
By L. C. Page & Company 

(incorporated) 

All rights reserved 


Published May, 1905 


COLONIAL PRESS 

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds &A Co. 
Boston, U. S.A . 







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Preface 

- ♦ 

In the schoolroom or playground you may 
possibly have met your Armenian cousin, — a 
child with dark hair and sad eyes, who is quiet 
and shy, and who seems almost fearful of 
accepting your proffered friendship. 

Poor little Armenian cousin! Have you 
heard your parents speak of the cruel manner 
in which the people of his country have been 
treated and of the hardships they suffer in their 
own home ? 

It can scarcely be called a home, for it is 
ruled over by the Sultan of Turkey, who 
allows little happiness or freedom to the people 
he has conquered. 


V 



VI 


Preface 


cc There is no such country as Armenia,” 
says the Turk. “That which was Armenia 
is now a province of Turkey, governed by 
Turkish laws and ruled by officers appointed 
by the Sultan.” 

Its people are not even allowed to come and 
go as they choose. Nothing can be done 
without the ruler’s permission. The smallest 
offence is punished in the severest manner, 
and many massacres of innocent people have 
taken place. 

It is no wonder our Armenian cousins are 
glad to leave their native land when a chance 
is offered, and that many of them come to 
America in search of a happier and more 
peaceful home. 

Their faces tell us they have suffered much. 
We must help them to forget their troubles. 
Our love and friendship must be strong enough 
to bring smiles to their faces and trust to their 
hearts. 


Preface 


Vll 


The world is great and good. Here in 
America, if not in their native land, our 
Armenian cousins may yet find a real home 
and lasting happiness. 



Contents 


-♦— 

CHAPTER 




PAGE 

I. 

A Highland Winter 

• • 

• 

• 

. 1 

II. 

The Sacred Land 

• • 

• 

« 

. 14 

III. 

The Earthquake. 

• • 

• 

• 

. 26 

IV. 

The Visitors 

• • 

• 

• 

• 36 

V. 

Hunting Wild Sheep 

• % 

• 

• 

• 47 

VI. 

Queer Animals 

• • 

• 

• 

• 57 

VII. 

Sights in the Great 

City . 

• 

• 

. 67 










' 


■ 



















List of Illustrations 


“Artin patted the sheep ” {Seepage 7) Frontispiece 

Climbing Mount Ararat.18 

“ The old lady went on, speaking quite 

slowly”.33 

“‘Many caravans pass through Armenia’” . 41 

Laz Hunters.53 

In Erzeroum.75 




Our Little Armenian Cousin 


CHAPTER I. 


A HIGHLAND WINTER 


<c Look ! look ! See the shower of snow,” 
cried Artin. 

“ There is enough snow outside, without 
having any more in the house,” said his 
mother. But she stopped her work and came 
out into the hall to see the strange sight. 

It was early morning and Artin had just 
opened the door leading into the yard. The 
weather was bitter cold, and as the door swung 
open the freezing air rushed into the big build¬ 
ing. It gave the warm air of the inside a most 
loving greeting. Then lo ! a cloud of snow- 



2 Our Little Armenian Cousin 


fairies appeared and came fluttering down upon 
the rough floor. Artin stood watching them 
as if he had never seen snow before in his 
life. 

“ The world is full of wonders. But come, 
Artin, and help your father with his cattle. 
Breakfast will soon be ready.” 

The mother went back to her work and 
Artin went out into the big stable, where his 
father and the other men were milking. 

It was a queer home, where this little black¬ 
haired boy had lived ever since he was born. 
The stable and the house were all together. 
You could hardly say, “ This is where the 
cattle are kept, and the family live in that 
part.” 

A large part of the building was used as a 
stable, while small rooms for housekeeping 
opened out from it. And yet, the family spent 
a good deal of their time in the stable itself. 

Artin’s father received his friends here. 


A Highland Winter 


3 


They smoked and told stories, and talked over 
their business, while the oxen chewed their 
cuds and lazily nodded their heads. 

The boy’s mother often brought her sewing 
or knitting out here and sat with her hus¬ 
band. 

At first, this custom of living in a stable 
with the cattle seems strange, but so do all 
fashions which are unlike ours. 

Artin’s father is quite a rich man. Before 
his little son was born, he used to live in a 
smaller home. But his flocks of sheep grew 
larger, and his herds of cattle also. He said : 

<c I do not have room enough here.” 

He hired some workmen, who began to dig 
out the soil on a gentle slope of land which he 
owned. They dug out a large space of ground. 
It was like a cellar about five feet deep. It 
was a long time before the work was done. 

But this was only the beginning of the 
home. 


4 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

cc You must get some stout trunks of trees 
and saw them into pieces ten or twelve feet 
long,” said the farmer. “We will set them 
up in rows inside of the cellar. They will 
make strong pillars.” 

You can see now that Artin’s home would 
be largely underground, but would be very 
strong. 

When the pillars had been set up, stone 
walls were built around the sides of the cellar. 
Next came the making of the roof. The 
branches of the trees, whose trunks had already 
been used, were laid across from pillar to pillar. 
The twigs were tied up in bunches and spread 
over the branches. 

Of course, the roof was not yet so close but 
that rain would fall through into the rooms 
beneath. The building of it, however, had 
only commenced. The men now took the 
earth they had dug out of the ground when 
they made the cellar, and spread it over the 


A Highland Winter 5 

framework of twigs and branches. They trod 
it down as hard as possible. 

Then came another layer of earth, and more 
pounding and treading. Now that this was 
done, there would be no possible leaking for 
years to come. 

When warm days of summer came, seeds 
began to sprout, and blades of grass shot up 
out of this earth-roof. It was soon like a line 
field of grass. The children played here, and 
the sheep got many a delicious supper over 
the heads of the people below. 

It wasn’t a bad way of building a home, was 
it ? Yet it does seem queer to us. 

But how could the sheep get up on the 
roof? At first, that would seem to puzzle 
you. 

You must remember the building was put 
up on sloping land. It was also partly under¬ 
ground. Besides this, as the loose earth was 
thrown up on the roof, it was left in a sort of 


6 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

banking from the ground to the roof on three 
sides of the building. 

The sheep, as well as the children, could 
scamper up and down the banking, to and from 
the roof, as much as they pleased. 

“ But, dear me ! how could the people inside 
of that big building see to do the work ? ” you 
exclaim. “ There were no windows on the 
sides of the house.” 

Indeed, there were only three or four small 
openings in the roof. And these were covered 
with oiled paper, so they let in very little light. 

If we should look closely, we should see one 
place in which a piece of real glass was set. It 
would be a sad day for the boy who broke that 
glass. It was very precious and cost a good 
deal of money in the part of the world where 
Artin lives. 

His home was dark, to be sure, and he 
stayed in the stable a great deal of the time 
during the long, cold winter. But he got used 


A Highland Winter 


7 


to it and it did not trouble him. Indeed, after 
he had been outdoors for a long time, he was 
glad to get away from the dazzling light of the 
sun on the snow. 

As Artin stepped into the stable, a big fat 
sheep ran to meet him. It rubbed its woolly 
side against the boy, as much as to say,— 

“ Good morning, good morning, little mas¬ 
ter.” 

Artin patted the sheep and scratched its 
back. It was his pet out of all the flock. 
When it was a baby lamb, he picked it out 
from all the others. He taught it to follow 
him, and often fed it with tender grass or bits 
of bread. 

It was an old sheep now, but was as much 
of a pet as ever. It often left the rest of the 
flock to follow Artin or his father from place 
to place. In the winter-time, when the ani¬ 
mals had to spend month after month in the 
stable, it chose the company of the horses. 


8 Our Little Armenian Cousin 


“ They are wise creatures, and I like them,” 
it seemed to think. “ We are very good 
friends.” 

As soon as Artin had petted the sheep, he 
turned to the dogs who came jumping about 
him. 

Cf Bow-wow ! bow-wow ! How glad we are 
to see you, little master,” they seemed to say. 
They barked and waved their tails in great 
delight. 

They made such a fuss that the chickens, 
who had already begun to scratch about for 
their breakfast, fled right and left. They 
were in a hurry to get out of the reach of the 
dogs’ feet. 

The big stable was dark, of course. But it 
was quite comfortable, although only a small 
fire was kept in the family part. There were 
so many cows and oxen and sheep and horses 
that their warm bodies gave a great deal of 
heat. 


A Highland Winter 


9 


As soon as the dogs became quiet and went 
back to their places, Artin felt something soft 
rubbing against his legs. It was a sober old 
cat that had come down from the platform at 
the end of the stable. She wished to greet 
Artin, too. She had left a new family of 
kittens, but she now hurried back to see that 
no harm came to them. 

Artin followed her up on to the platform to 
her hiding-place in one corner. 

“ Oh, how lovely! ” he cried, as he knelt 
down on the floor where two of the most beau¬ 
tiful white kittens were cuddled. They were 
snowy white, without a coloured hair on them. 
Their fur was long and fine. Their eyes were 
not yet open. 

“ What beauties they are ! ” cried Artin, as 
he tenderly held them in his arms. Their 
mother looked up at him and cried. 

“ No, no, I won’t hurt them. And the 
dogs sha’n’t trouble them, either,” said the 


io Our Little Armenian Cousin 


little boy. He put them back in the corner 
and turned softly away. 

“ I believe they are even prettier than my 
Angora kittens/’ he said to himself. “ They 
are as white as snow. The Angora kittens 
have long hair, too, but it is brownish. And 
they are not as gentle as these will be. They 
are fierce and ready for a battle with the dogs 
at almost any time.” 

The platform where the cats spent most of 
their time was the place where Artin’s father 
received his friends. There were fine carpets 
on the floor and soft couches along the sides. 
There was a rail around it so the cattle and 
sheep were kept off. 

The dogs had their dens beneath. The 
cats were the only animals that were allowed 
to come there. 

“You are late. You ought to have been 
helping us half an hour ago,” said his father, 
as the boy appeared at last among the milkers. 


A Highland Winter 11 

The farmer did not often need to find fault 
with his little son. 

Artin was strong and healthy. He liked 
to work, and was seldom behindhand. 

“ Breakfast! breakfast! ” Artin’s sister, 
Mariam, called a little while afterward. 

The milking had been finished by this time. 
Every one dropped work and followed the 
little girl to the room where the morning meal 
was smoking on the low table. 

There was hot mutton in a metal dish, and 
curdled milk, and a plentiful amount of 
“ losh,” as Artin calls the favourite bread 
of his people. 

H is mother had made it in thin cakes. 
They were scarcely thicker than the blade of 
a knife, but were at least a yard long. The 
table was fairly covered with these cakes, which 
took the place of napkins. 

While Artin sat eating, he wiped his mouth 
with a bit of losh. When he wished some of 


12 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

the curdled milk, he broke off a piece of losh 
and folded it up so as to make a spoon with 
which he fed himself. When he helped him¬ 
self to some mutton, he rolled it up in a strip 
of losh and made an odd little sandwich. 

Artin was very fond of this queer bread, 
and ate large quantities of it, while he made it 
useful in eating the other food to which he 
was helped. 

Artin’s grandmother lived with the family. 
So, also, did his great-grandmother, who was a 
bright-looking woman a hundred years old! 
She was almost as spry as her daughter. She 
had helped to get the breakfast ready on this 
cold winter’s morning. 

“ There is nothing like the fine air of our 
country,” she often said. “How can a person 
help keeping well and strong if he lives here ? ” 

Then she would sigh as she thought of 
those of her people who had left Armenia to 
live in other lands. 


A Highland Winter 


13 


<c It is not because they wished to go away,” 
she had told Artin. “ Oh, no, no! It was 
because of the rule of the cruel Turks.” 

She always spoke in a whisper when she 
mentioned the Turks. It seemed as though 
she feared that one of them were listening in 
some corner, or that he would suddenly appear 
in the doorway. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE SACRED LAND 

“ Mother, why can’t I talk about Armenia 
as much as I wish ? It is the name of our 
country, and it sounds like music when I say 
it to myself.” 

cc Sh ! sh ! my child ! ” Artin’s mother 
looked frightened. She always had a sad 
expression in her dark eyes, but now they 
seemed sadder than ever. 

“ I have tried to make you understand the 
reason,” she said, speaking slowly and softly. 
“You know the Sultan of Turkey has us in 
his power. He rules over us as he wishes, 
and we are not strong enough to free ourselves. 

“ It is the Sultan’s command that we shall 
not speak of Armenia. c There is no such 


14 


The Sacred Land 


15 


place/ he says. c The land that was called by 
that name belongs to me. It is a province of 
my empire. Its people are now my people.’ ” 

The tears fell from the woman’s eyes as she 
said these words. “ Oh, Artin, my child, I 
hope we shall live to see the time when other 
countries will come to help us. It is the only 
way to save our Fatherland from the Sultan’s 
wicked power.” 

cc But, mother, our people were not always 
like this, were they ? ” asked Artin. 

“ No, indeed. We once had kings of our 
own and we were free and happy. Just think, 
Artin, the first Christian king in the whole 
world was an Armenian. 

“ But our home lies here in southwestern 
Asia, with enemies on every hand. The Per¬ 
sians are on one side of us, the Turks on the 
other. Then, if we go north, the great coun¬ 
try of Russia lies just across the Black Sea. 

“ The armies of these different peoples have 


16 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

met and fought their battles here in our own 
dear land. It has been conquered first by one 
of them, then by another. Our courage is 
gone. Our spirit is quite broken.” 

“ Do not cry, mother. Let us ask father 
to go away. I should like to cross the ocean 
and go to the wonderful country of America. 
Some of our friends are living there, you know. 
They write letters about their happy new 
home.” 

<c I know it, Artin, I know it. But this 
land is the only home I can imagine. I love 
it with all my heart. I cannot bear to think 
of leaving it. 

“Always remember, my dear child, this land 
was the cradle of all the peoples of the earth.” 

“You are thinking of the Garden of Eden, 
aren’t you, mother? ” 

“Yes, Artin. We are only a few miles 
from the very spot where Adam and Eve had 
their first home. That is what we have been 


The Sacred Land 17 

told. Our first parents lived in perfect happi¬ 
ness in that paradise of birds and flowers until 
the tempter led them into sin. They tasted 
the wondrous apples that were not meant 
for them to eat. 

cc Then, alas ! the sorrow of the world began. 
Adam and Eve were driven out from the 
garden. They now had to work among the 
thorns and thistles of Armenia for their daily 
living.” 

“ I don’t wonder you would rather live here 
than anywhere else. Who knows but what 
the Garden of Eden will be given back to us ! 
I would like to be as near it as possible, at 
any rate,” said Artin. 

As his mother talked, it seemed as though 
he could see it all, — the beautiful paradise of 
fruits and flowers, the birds singing happily 
overhead, the bright, clear sunshine all around. 
And in the midst of all this loveliness were 
two people, a man and a woman. Their faces 


18 Our Little Armenian Cousin 


were calm and gentle. They walked gaily, as 
though they knew no care. They sang merrily 
in company with the birds. There was no 
cloud in the sky. There was no shadow on 
the earth. 

Then came the change, and sorrow entered 
the world because of disobedience. 

“ It has stayed here ever since. I wonder 
if the Golden Age will ever come again,” 
thought Artin. 

“ There is something else for us to be proud 
of,” his mother went on. “ If you climb to 
the top of yonder mountain, what can you see 
beyond ? ” 

“ Mount Ararat,” quickly replied the boy. 
“ I’d rather be near that mountain than any 
other in the world.” 

“ Of course you would, Artin. It is im¬ 
possible to think of it without also thinking 
of Noah, who descended on the mountain of 
Ararat in the Ark when the great flood began 



CLIMBING MOUNT ARARAT 















The Sacred Land 19 

to go down. When the world was overtaken 
by the deluge, every one was destroyed except 
Noah and his family and the creatures he had 
taken with him into the Ark.” 

“ Why was there a deluge, mother ? ” 

“ Because the people of the earth had grown 
very wicked. But Noah was good and wise, 
and the Lord loved him. So He directed Noah 
to build the Ark and save himself at the time 
of the rising of the waters.” 

“ What a dreadful time it must have been ! 
I wonder if Noah wasn’t frightened. And I 
should think so many animals in the Ark would 
have made a fearful noise. Just think of it! 
The Bible says the flood lasted forty days and 
forty nights ! ” 

“ It seems a long time, doesn’t it? But at 
last the waters began to go down and the Ark 
rested on the mountain of Ararat. More and 
more land was laid bare, and Noah left the 
Ark and went down the mountainside. He 


20 Our Little Armenian Cousin 


planted a vineyard and settled there. But 
first, he built an altar and made sacrifices to 
God, who had kept him safe.” 

“ I know, mother. There is a village on the 
side of Ararat, and the little church stands 
where the altar was built. Father has been to 
the place.” 

“Yes, dear. I have visited the village 
myself. I have heard there are people in the 
world who don't believe there ever was a deluge. 
They even think Noah was not a real man. 
They say the story is a myth. 

“ Some of those who travel through our 

« 

country talk like that. But we people of 
Armenia believe it as I have told you this 
morning.” 

At this moment the door opened and Artin’s 
father came staggering into the room. 

“ Dear me ! What is the matter ? ” cried 
his wife as she hurried to his side. 

“ I cannot see,” he answered. “ I am snow- 


The Sacred Land 


21 


blind. The sunlight was very strong as it fell 
upon the snow. I have been three hours on 
the road. The way was so rough, I had to 
use my eyes constantly. 

tc At last, when I had almost reached home, 
my sight failed me entirely. I had to let the 
horse take his own course. 

“ Oh, how good it feels to be out of the 
glaring light, although I can hardly see yet.” 

“Your face is all blistered, father,” cried 
Artin. “ It must be very cold outside.” 

H is father’s cheeks were a sorry sight. The 
skin was raised in blisters, as the boy had said. 
The strong glare of the sun, together with the 
biting wind, had caused this. 

“ I shall soon be better. But you must not 
stay here, Artin,” said his father. “ Run out 
and attend to the horse.” 

Artin’s home was high up on the table-land. 
Down below him on the seashore, the weather 
was much warmer, and snow and ice were 


22 Our Little Armenian Cousin 


seldom seen. But up on the high plain the 
winters were long and cold and the summers 
were short. 

Artin was never sick. He had never had a 
doctor. 

“ I wonder if I shall live to be as old as my 
great-grandmother/’ he sometimes thought. 
“ Ever so many of my people live to be a 
hundred years old. Father says it is because 
this is the healthiest place in the world. It is 
the nicest and best place, anyway.” 

After he had gone out into the stable to 
take care of the horse, his sister soon followed 
him. 

“ Grandma just told me a story, Artin, and 
I thought you would like to hear it,” she said 
to her brother. 

She was very fond of Artin, and the boy and 
girl played together most of the time. 

“ Don’t you know we were talking about 
geese the other day?” she went on. “You 


The Sacred Land 


23 


said you wondered what made the difference 
between wild geese and tame ones. Well, this 
is what the Persians say about them: 

“ Once upon a time there were two geese who 
were going to take a journey together. The 
evening before they started, one of them said 
to the other: 

“ £ Look out, dear friend, and be ready. If 
God is willing, I will start in the morning.’ 

“ c So will I,’ answered the other goose, 
c whether God is willing or not.’ 

“ Early the next morning the pious goose ate 
his breakfast and went to a stream near by for 
a drink. Then he spread his wings and flew 
far away. 

“ The goose who had talked so wickedly got 
ready to follow him. But, strange to say, he 
found he could not rise from the ground. 

“ He hopped and he fluttered, and he made 
a great deal of fuss. It was all in vain. His 
wings were useless. 


24 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

“ He looked around in despair. He saw a 
hunter not far away, but he could not move 
enough to get out of his reach. 

“ The hunter soon caught him and carried 
him away. He kept him in a yard and tamed 
him. But that goose never got back the 
power to use his wings. He became the 
father of all the tame geese in the world.” 

cc Poor fellow,” said Artin. “ I pity him, 
even if he did talk wickedly. But your story 
makes me think of a crane I saw last summer 
in a neighbour’s yard. 

“ A hunter had shot him, but it did no 
harm to the bird except to break a wing. He 
was easily caught after that. Then the hunter 
brought him to our neighbour’s farmyard. 

“ He stalked about very proudly, as much 
as to say : c What business have you to make 
me stay here with common fowls ? A lordly 
crane like me ! Shame upon you ! ’ 

<c But after awhile he became quiet, and 


The Sacred Land 


25 


ate corn with the rest of the fowls. Of course, 
he had a deep jug of water to drink from, on 
account of his long bill. He did not have to 
share that with the other creatures of the barn¬ 
yard, at any rate. 

cc I was over there one day when a flock of 
cranes flew by overhead. They wheeled round 
and round as they caught sight of their brother 
below, and called to him to join them. He 
stretched up his long neck and answered them 
in the most mournful way. I think he was 
telling them that he was a prisoner.” 

“ I wonder if they understood him,” said 
Mariam. 

“ It seemed as though they did. They flew 
away, and the poor prisoner was left alone. I 
felt sorry for him, I can tell you.” 


CHAPTER III. 


THE EARTHQUAKE 

Artin and Mariam were sitting by the big 
fireplace of a small sitting-room. They were 
reading. It was not very late in the afternoon, 
but the iron lamp hanging from the chimney- 
piece was already lighted. 

The tiny windows covered with oiled paper 
let in so little light that the children could not 
read without the help of the lamp. Mariam 
looked up from her book. 

“ I was just reading such a funny story, 
Artin,” she said. “ It was about a little girl 
who lived in a house like ours. She was all 
alone in the kitchen one evening. Her 
mother had told her to watch the supper, for 


26 


The Earthquake 27 

she had some work to do in another part of 
the house. 

“The little girl was sitting by the fireplace 
and singing. The kettle was boiling away at 
a great rate. 

“ Suddenly the girl heard a sound over¬ 
head. Somebody was on the roof! It was 
winter-time, and dark, too. She said : c That 
cannot be the sheep or dogs.’ 

“ A moment afterward she felt sure that 
the flat stone on top of the chimney had 
been lifted off, for she felt a gust of cold 
air. 

“ She began to be frightened, for there was 
no one else in the part of the house where she 
was. 

“ But she was a good deal more scared when 
she saw a crooked stick come slowly down the 
chimney. It fished around till it caught hold 
of the handle of the kettle and slowly lifted it 
up out of sight. 


28 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

cc When it was entirely gone the child began 
to scream with all her might. Her mother 
came hurrying into the room, exclaiming, 
( What is the matter with the child ! ’ At the 
same time she looked at the fireplace and saw 
that the kettle was missing. 

“As soon as the little girl could speak she 
told what had happened. 

“ c Ah, ha ! ’ exclaimed her mother. * Some 
hungry thief has stolen my nice supper. It 
was easy enough, too. The chimney is so 
low, he did not have to reach very far. If I 
had been here, though, he shouldn’t have had 
it. But stop your crying, my child. No one 
is hurt. And now we must hurry to get 
another supper ready.* ” 

Artin laughed. “ I hope the thief didn’t 
burn his mouth eating the stolen stew. Didn’t 
the people ever catch him ? ” 

“ No one tried. The little girl’s mother 
said it wasn’t worth while. And when the 


The Earthquake 


2 9 


second supper had been cooked, and the 
family sat down to enjoy it, everybody laughed 
over what had happened.” 

“ Do you remember what I found on our 
chimney last spring, Mariam ? ” 

“ I don’t think I’ll forget it very soon, 
Artin. It was a stork’s nest. The funniest 
part of it was that sparrows had built their own 
little nests among the sticks that formed the 
big nest of the storks. You know you showed 
it to me.” 

“ I’d like to know what sparrows were made 
for, Mariam. They are such fussy, noisy little 
things. They scold and scold about every¬ 
thing.” 

cc Yes, and they are such bold birds. They 
are always ready to steal the grain, as well as 
every other good thing they can seize in their 
bills. I do not wonder they dare to build 
their homes around the storks’ nests. They 
dare almost anything.” 


30 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

Just then the children’s great-grandmother 
entered the room. 

“Won’t you tell us a story? We love to 
hear about long ago,” said Artin, as the old 
lady sat down. 

“ Dear me ! What can I say that would 
interest you children ? ” 

“Tell about the earthquake,” said Mariam. 
“ You said once that you remembered it as if 
it happened yesterday.” 

“ And it was more than sixty years ago. 
What a long time that is ! ” exclaimed Artin. 

“Yet when it happened, I was a grown 
woman with a family of little children,” said 
the old lady. 

“ Everything seemed as usual on the morn¬ 
ing of the earthquake. I went about my work 
and the children played as happily as could be. 
But when the afternoon came, I began to feel 
strange. I could not understand why. 

“ The air became still and gloomy. The 


The Earthquake 


3i 


children came to my side with sober little faces. 
They felt something, too. But what was it? 

“ All at once I heard a low, rumbling noise. 
It grew louder every moment. The house 
trembled and shook. Dust from the plastered 
walls filled the air about me. I choked and 
coughed. The children began to cry and sob. 

“ c The earth is moving, mamma,’ they cried. 
c Aren’t you afraid ? ’ 

“ I could hardly speak from fear, myself, 
but I managed to say, c God is everywhere, my 
darlings.’ 

“Just then there was a crash. A part of 
the house had fallen in. 

“ And now the room where we were shook 
and rocked to and fro, and the air was filled 
with a fearful rumbling and roaring. The 
strangest thing about it was that there was no 
wind outside. It seemed as though the world 
were stifling. 

“ Then came another crash, and another. 


32 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

It was the sound of houses falling around us. 
We were living in the city of Erzeroum at 
that time, as I once told you. 

“ Should we be spared? Every moment I 
wondered if that part of the house where we 
were would fall next. 

“ Every moment seemed like an hour. But 
at last the awful noise stopped, the earth grew 
quiet, and we dared to move about the room 
and look outside. 

“ A terrible sight met our gaze. Houses lay 
in ruins on the ground all about us. All of our 
own house was destroyed, except the room in 
which we had been and the one next to it. 

“ Your great-grandfather came home soon 
after. He had been outdoors during the whole 
dreadful time. His life had been saved in 
some wonderful way. 

“ c What has happened ? * I asked. 

“ c It was an earthquake,’ he told me. 

“ c May we never see another,’ I cried. 



“THE OLD LADY WENT ON, SPEAKING QUITE SLOWLY 















The Earthquake 


33 


And, children, we never have. And I hope 
you will not live to know what an earthquake 
is like.” 

“ It must have been dreadful,” said Mariam, 
tenderly patting the old lady’s cheek. “ Don’t 
let’s talk about it any more, but tell us about 
something pleasanter, if you are not too tired.” 

“Would you like to hear about Armenia in 
Bible days ? It was a free and happy country 
then.” 

“Yes, indeed,” answered Artin. “Mother 
often tells us what she has read of those times, 
too.” 

“ I think you, Artin, would like to hear 
about the strange boats on which the cargoes 
were carried down the Euphrates River to 
Babylon. You never saw anything like them.” 

“ I’d like to hear, too. I know I would,” 
cried Mariam. 

The old lady went on, speaking quite slowly. 

“The frames were made of willow and were 


34 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

quite round, like a bowl. Skins of wild ani¬ 
mals were stretched over them. They were 
then filled with straw, and the cargoes were 
taken on board.” 

<c What kind of cargoes did the merchants 
of those days carry ? ” asked Artin. 

“ Chiefly wine.” 

£C And how did the people move the boat ? ” 
was the next question. 

“ Two men had charge of each boat. They 
stood at their work. They rowed and pushed 
it along with their oars. 

“No boat went on a trip without carrying 
a live ass. The larger boats carried more than 
one of these animals.” 

“ Why in the world was the ass carried ? ” 
asked Mariam, laughing. 

“ This was the reason,” answered the old 
lady. “ When the merchants arrived in Baby¬ 
lon, they sold their cargoes and broke up their 
boats. Then they loaded their asses with the 


The Earthquake 35 

skins that had covered the boats, and started 
again for their homes in Armenia.” 

“ But why didn’t they go back in their 
boats, grandma ? ” asked Artin, with surprise. 

“ The current of the river is too strong for 
a boat to go up the stream with any ease. So 
that was the reason for making the boats of 
skins instead of wood. A great writer who 
lived at that time said these Armenian boats 
were more wonderful than anything else he 
ever saw, except the city of Babylon itself. 
And of course your mother has told you that 
was the greatest city in the world at the time. 

<c But come, children, I hear your mother 
calling us to supper. We are to have some¬ 
thing we are all very fond of, and we must not 
keep her waiting.” 

“ I know what it is, — mutton stewed with 
quinces. It makes me hungry to think ot it, 
cried Artin, as he led the way to the supper- 
table. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE VISITORS 

“ May we rest here for a short time? We 
have just come from Erzeroum. Our friends 
there told us you would be most kind to us.” 

It was a stranger who said these words to 
Artin’s father. Another gentleman was with 
him. It was plainly to be seen that both of 
them were Americans, and that they were very 
tired. 

“ Welcome, welcome,” was the answer in 
their own language. 

Artin’s father was only a farmer, but he 
could speak two languages besides his own, 
and he spoke them readily. One of them was 
English. 

“ England is a great country,” he often told 

36 


The Visitors 


37 


his friends. cc Some day she will help our 
poor nation and save us from our enemies. 
But America is great, too. If I should be 
obliged to leave Armenia, I should rather 
make a new home in America than in any 
other part of the world. It is the land of 
brave, free people.” 

It is no wonder, then, that when he saw his 
visitors were Americans, he smiled pleasantly, 
and gladly led the way to the platform in the 
big stable. You will remember this was the 
place where he received his friends. 

“We are very tired,” said the visitor who 
had spoken first, and who had introduced him¬ 
self as Mr. Brown. “ We came on horseback 
to Erzeroum all the way from the northern 
coast. It was a rough journey, and a danger¬ 
ous one.” 

“Yes, at this time of the year it is certainly 
not an easy one,” answered the farmer. “ But 
I am used to mountain climbing, and I made 


38 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

the journey many times when I was a young 
man. Do tell me how are my people on 
the seacoast ? Are our Turkish masters as 
cruel as ever ? ” 

“ I fear so. There have been fresh massa¬ 
cres, and hundreds of Armenians have been 
killed. They were not to blame, either. A 
few of your people have been working secretly, 
trying to stir up a revolution. The Turks 
discovered this and killed everybody, right and 
left. They were just as cruel to those who 
had done no harm, and who had never spoken 
a word against them, as they were to the 
others. 

“They did not stop to find out who were 
innocent and who were guilty. I am sorry 
with all my heart for you Armenians.” 

Artin was helping his father when the vis¬ 
itors arrived. He heard every word that was 
said. The word “ massacre ” made him 
tremble from head to foot. Yet, although he 


The Visitors 


39 


was so frightened himself, he kept thinking, 
“ I hope Mariam won’t hear this. Poor little 
Mariam ! I don’t want her to feel badly.” 

His father noticed that the boy was trem¬ 
bling. “ Run off to your pets, Artin, while I 
talk with these gentlemen,” he said. And 
Artin heard no more about the sad things that 
had happened in his country. 

The visitors stayed to supper, but they were 
talking now about their journey from the 
seacoast. 

“ Up, up, up, we climbed,” said Mr. Brown. 
“ And each new mile of the road seemed harder 
than the one before it.” 

<c Indeed, my hair stood on end most of the 
time,” said Mr. Miller, the other visitor. 
“ The road in some places was cut out of the 
solid rock, and it was so narrow that a misstep 
would have made us fall hundreds of feet over 
a steep precipice. 

“ But the views ! I never saw anything so 


40 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

beautiful as the mountain scenery of Armenia 
in all my life. There we were with mountains 
all around us. Some seemed like babies rest¬ 
ing beside their giant mothers. 

“ Yet they were all grand. As we climbed 
higher and higher we could look down on the 
peaks and slopes of some of them, while ahead 
and beyond us there were other and more lofty 
ones.” 

“ It was a wonderful journey,” said his com¬ 
panion. cc I was filled with fear and delight 
at almost the same time.” 

Artin listened eagerly to the talk of the 
travellers. He had never left his home on 
the plateau to visit the seacoast, but he loved 
to hear about the journey. 

“ I suppose you spent the nights in the inns 
at the different villages on the way,” said 
Artin’s father. 

“Yes, and we found plenty of company. 
The houses were well-filled with drivers of 



u * MANY CARAVANS PASS THROUGH ARMENIA 


9 99 














The Visitors 


4i 


camels and pack-horses who were resting on 
their way.” 

“ Many caravans pass through Armenia on 
their way to the north. They carry goods 
from Asia to Europe,” answered their 
host. 

“ Yes, I know. Steam-cars would seem 
strange in this part of the country. Even if 
the people wished for them, they could not 
build them through the dangerous passes over 
which we travelled.” 

cc Sometimes we had hard work to keep 
warm at the inns where we rested. One night 
it was bitter cold. Our room was on the 
second floor. The lower part of the building 
was used for the horses and camels. We had 
no fireplace where we could warm ourselves. 
The innkeeper said: 

“ c I will bring a mangal.* 

“ We wondered what a mangal could be. 
Pretty soon the landlord came back into the 


42 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

room with a large brazen vessel. It was full 
of red-hot charcoal. 

“ He set the mangal in the middle of the 
room. We were glad to gather around it and 
feel its warmth.” 

“ I’ll tell you what seemed to me the queer¬ 
est sight of the whole trip,” said Mr. Miller. 
“ It was the camels moving along over snow 
and ice. I had always thought of those animals 
as travelling over the hot sands of the desert. 
They did not seem to belong to cold places 
and mountain passes.” 

“ I will tell you of what once happened to 
me,” said Artin’s father. 

“ I was passing over the same road by which 
you came. We had reached the middle of the 
most dangerous pass between the seashore and 
our plateau. The way was almost blocked 
with snow and ice. Our horses were sharp- 
shod, but they had to pick their way with the 
greatest care. I did not dare to look sideways 


The Visitors 


43 


over the steep cliff for fear of growing dizzy. 
Then came a turn in the road. Away ahead 
of us we could just see a long, moving line. 
It came nearer and nearer. 

“ It was a caravan. How were we ever to 
pass that procession of camels ? They were 
heavily laden, too, and their burdens were 
hanging down over their sides. 

“There was only one thing to do. We 
must keep our horses’ heads to the inside of 
the track and hug the rocky side of the moun¬ 
tain. Do you understand ? 

“The caravan was now close upon us. We 
plunged our horses into the snow-drift. As I 
did so, my hand grazed the sharp rocks. My 
glove was torn and the flesh of one hand laid 
bare and bleeding. 

“If nothing worse happened, I should be 
thankful indeed. Suppose my horse should 
take fright and make a sudden dash, I should 
be thrown headlong over the snow-drift. Or 


44 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

perhaps the heavy load of one of the camels 
might knock against me as he passed by. 
Some of my bones would certainly be broken. 

“ I held my breath. There ! one camel had 
passed. Then two, three, four, five! The 
minutes seemed like hours, but at last we were 
alone and safe. 

“ Although the rest of the pass was almost 
as steep as the side of a house, we did not 
complain.” 

“ Yes, I know, I know,” said Mr. Brown, 
“ but it was the grandest part of the journey, 
wasn’t it ? ” 

“ I should say it was. When I looked up 
into the deep blue sky, it seemed as though 
heaven could not be far away. And when I 
turned my eyes toward the mountain peaks 
around us, and saw the snow sparkling like 
millions of diamonds upon their sides, I 
could not speak. It was so very, very beau¬ 
tiful ! ” 


The Visitors 


45 

“ Gentlemen, there is no land in the world 
like Armenia. Tell me, is it not so ? ” 

Both of his visitors agreed with him, and 
Artin’s father looked much pleased. 

“You have not seen Mount Ararat yet/’ 
he went on. “ You have a great treat in store. 
It reaches up toward the sky like a mighty 
giant. 

“ It is more than three miles high. The 
Persians call it c Noah’s Mountain,’ but we 
speak of it as the c Painful Mountain.’ ” 

“We shall not leave Armenia till we have 
looked at it,” the visitors promised. 

But it was growing late and every one was 
tired. Artin showed the Americans to their 
room, and was soon fast asleep in his own 
little bed. 

What do you think he saw in his dreams 
that night? It was himself riding on the back 
of a camel. And where was he going? He 
was climbing up the side of Mount Ararat. 


4.6 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

And as he climbed, he saw that the sides were 
covered with diamonds. He tried to lean far 
enough over the side of the camel to reach 
them, but, alas! he tumbled off. Then he 
waked up only to find he had tumbled out 
of his own bed at home. 


CHAPTER V. 

HUNTING WILD SHEEP 

“The spring has come! The spring has 
come! ” shouted Artin, as he came hurrying 
into the house. 

“ Mariam, I saw a flock of birds flying 
northward. It was such a big flock, too. 
And mother, the snow is beginning to melt 
and is running off in streams everywhere.” 

cc I felt it in the air this morning,” said the 
children's mother. cc The weather is certainly 
much warmer.” 

She and Mariam followed Artin to the door 
and looked out. Yes, the snow was melting 
fast, and everything seemed to say: “ Spring 
is here ! Spring is here ! ” 


47 


48 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

The village had been very quiet for months. 
All winter long the women and children had 
stayed indoors, and had scarcely ventured out¬ 
side. The cattle and sheep had been kept 
shut up in the big dark stables. 

But now everybody was stirring. Look! 
there was a man driving out a long line of 
cows to get the fresh air. How they winked 
and blinked in the bright sunlight. 

And listen ! there was the sound of running 
water, as a stream, which had been frozen all 
winter, was beginning to rush down the hill¬ 
side. Smaller streams made by the melting 
snow ran to join it. 

“ Look out for accidents to-day,” said 
Artin’s mother, as she stood watching. “ Many 
a child has been carried off by the mountain 
streams at the opening of spring.” 

“ Now, Mariam, do take care of yourself,” 
she went on, as the little girl started off with 
Artin to go to a neighbour’s. “ Look out, my 


Hunting Wild Sheep 


49 


child, and do not lose your foothold. Artin, 
take good care of your sister.” 

In an hour the two children came hurrying 
home as fast as the bad going would let them. 

“ Mother ! mother ! What do you suppose 
has happened?” exclaimed Artin. “Little 
Sophia was carried off by the stream before 
her mother could reach her. She toddled out 
into the street when no one was looking.” 

<c Dear me ! dear me ! ” cried Artin’s mother. 
“ Was she drowned ? ” 

“ No, her father got her just in time. But 
she lost her senses, and it was a long time 
before she knew anything. Poor little thing, 
she had a narrow escape.” 

“ Have you learned whether any wolves 
have been seen near the village, Artin ? They 
are pretty daring at this time of the year. 
They are so hungry they will venture almost 
anywhere in the hope of getting food.” 

“ Yes, I heard one man say he saw two 


50 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

wolves skulking behind his house. And 
where there are two wolves there may be a 
dozen.” 

While they were talking they heard the two 
American visitors come into the next room. 
The gentlemen had expected to stay only one 
night, but Mr. Brown was taken ill. He was 
not a strong man, and the journey had been 
too much for him. 

Artin’s father grew very fond of him and his 
friend. He found they knew a cousin of his 
who had gone to America years ago. Even 
when Mr. Brown was quite well again and able 
to go on with his travels, the farmer said : 

“ You had better stay with us another week. 
You are fond of hunting and you can find 
plenty of wild sheep among our mountains. 
There are foxes and gray beavers, too.” 

The gentlemen were much pleased. They 
were in no hurry to leave. They had come 
to Armenia to see the country and were glad 


5i 


Hunting Wild Sheep 

to have a chance to go hunting. Now the 
spring had opened, they were eager for an 
adventure. 

“ The gentlemen seem quite excited,” said 
the farmer’s wife. “ I wonder what is the 
matter.” 

<c I think I know. They are getting ready 
for hunting,” said Artin. “ They have been 
down in the village to find some men to go 
with them. You know father doesn’t care for 
hunting.” 

Artin had guessed aright. Early the next 
morning the party of hunters started out. 

“ We will bring home a wild sheep for your 
mother to roast,” Mr. Miller promised Mariam, 
as he patted the little girl’s cheek. 

The wild sheep of Armenia are very different 
from tame ones. They look more like deer 
than sheep. They have short horns bending 
backward. They are very strong. They climb 
nimbly about in the highest and most slippery 


52 Our Little Armenian Cousin 


places. They are shy and are easily fright¬ 
ened. 

“ Do you really suppose we can get within 
shot of them ? ” asked Mr. Miller of his 
friend. 

“ I hardly dare to hope so, but it will be 
great sport and it is worth trying. The head 
of the animal would be a curiosity in America. 
I should like to take one home very much/’ 

Their guides led the way to the top of the 
nearest mountain. It was rough climbing, but 
the place was reached at last. 

“ Now we must be careful,” said one of the 
hunters in his own language. He was not an 
Armenian, but was a Laz. His country is just 
beyond Armenia. 

The Americans could not understand him 
very well, so he made signs to them to creep 
along the edges of the cliff and look down over 
the slopes. 

Mr. Brown had brought his telescope. It 







« 


LAZ HUNTERS 






Hunting Wild Sheep 53 

would help him in discovering any signs of 
the wild sheep. 

These timid creatures jump and frisk about 
on the most dangerous ledges. They seem 
to fear nothing in the whole world but 
men. 

The hunters crept carefully and quietly about 
from place to place, looking in every direction. 

cc Do you see anything moving below us ? ” 
whispered Mr. Miller, after a search of fifteen 
minutes. 

“ There is not the smallest sign of a living 
creature,” replied his friend. 

Just then one of the Laz hunters pointed to 
a cleft in the rocks far below. Yes, there were 
two sheep sporting together. It almost seemed 
as if they were having a game of hide-and-seek. 

“ But it is too far off. Our shot couldn’t 
reach them,” said Mr. Brown. 

The guide pointed again. He showed that 
the ledge below where they stood jutted out 


54 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

and made a little shelf. It was quite a distance 
down to this place, but no one was afraid. 

There would not be room for all of them, 
however. Only two could venture at a time. 

“You may go/’ said Mr. Miller to his 
friend. “ I will take the next chance.” 

One of the Laz guides was let down by a 
rope. Then Mr. Brown followed him in the 
same way. The others leaned over the edge 
of the cliff and watched. 

The two men who had gone down found 
they were still too far away from the sheep. 
But they discovered still another foothold 
below them. They swung themselves down 
to this with the help of the roots of a stunted 
tree. They were now barely within gunshot 
of the sheep. 

Bang! bang! went the guns. But, alas! 
both shots missed the marks. The sheep 
darted out of sight like the wind and were 
never seen again. 


Hunting Wild Sheep 55 

There was a new trouble for the hunters 
now. They could not be seen by their friends 
above them on account of a bend in the cliff. 
And when they turned to climb to the next 
foothold, they found the roots beyond their 
reach. 

What was to be done now? The Laz guide 
made signs to the American to brace himself 
against the side of the cliff so he could climb 
up on his shoulders. 

Mr. Brown understood at once. With all 
his might, he pressed himself against the side 
of the rock. He even stuck his rifle into a 
crevice to make himself more steady. 

The guide sprang to his shoulders, caught 
hold of the roots, and was soon safe on the 
rocky shelf overhead. Then it was an easy 
matter for the guide to stretch a rope down to 
Mr. Brown and bring him up to his own foot¬ 
hold. 

The friends who were waiting at the top of 


56 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

the cliff could now see and help them. In a 
few minutes, all were together once more. 

But what of the wild sheep the Americans 
hoped to bring home with them ? They spent 
the day in vain, for they did not even catch 
sight of any others. 

Artin and Mariam were watching for them 
when they reached the farm at nightfall. 

“We don’t deserve any supper, for we 
haven’t brought back any game,” Mr. Miller 
said, laughingly. cc Next time, Artin, we must 
take you with us. How would you like to be 
let down with ropes over the sides of the cliffs ? 
Would you care enough for wild sheep to do 
such things ? ” 

Artin was quite sure he would be satisfied 
with mutton from his father’s own sheep. He 
was not like some boys, for he did not care 
very much for exciting adventures. 


CHAPTER VI. 

QUEER ANIMALS 

“ Look, Mariam, look! that’s a lemming, I 
do believe.” 

It was a bright spring morning and Artin 
and his sister were playing on the hillside. 

<c Sh, sh! I don’t want it to see us. It 
might spring up and snap at our hands,” 
whispered Mariam. 

“ Nonsense, it will let us alone, if we do not 
worry it. See ! it is sitting up on its hind legs 
now and is wiping its eyes with its fore paws. 
Don’t move or it will see us and run back 
into its hole.” 

“ There is another coming out to join the 
first one. They like to feel the warm sunshine 


57 


58 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

after the quiet of a long, cold winter. I don’t 
blame them, Artin, do you ? ” 

“ No, indeed. They are cross little things, 
though, if you annoy them. I surprised a 
family of them last spring. 

“ The dogs were with me and they set upon 
the lemmings. Would you believe it! One 
of the little creatures did not try to run. He 
sat up in the path and bit the nose of one of 
the dogs that tried to seize him. It was a hard 
bite, I tell you, and the dog didn’t enjoy it. 
He turned tail and ran off as fast as his legs 
would carry him.” 

“ Father told me a little about their queer 
ways,” said Mariam. 

By this time the lemmings had discovered 
the children and run back into their hole. 

“ What was it ? ” asked Artin. 

“ He said that the lemmings sometimes take 
long journeys. A large number of them go 
together on their travels.” 


Queer Animals 


59 


“ What makes them take the journey ? ” 

“ It is probably because their food grows 
scarce. At any rate, when they once start out 
they travel in a straight line. They don’t even 
turn aside when they reach a lake or river, but 
swim across it.” 

“ Is that so ? Some of them must get killed 
on the way, for a good-sized fish could easily 
kill a lemming.” 

“ Yes, that is what father said. Oh, but I 
forgot. He told me that they do turn aside 
for a solid rock or a stone wall, for, of course, 
they could not make their way through that.” 

“ We must be on the lookout now for the 
cara guz and jerboas,” said Artin. “They 
keep quiet all winter, but they begin to get 
lively as the days grow warmer.” 

“ I think the cara guz is a cunning little 
thing. Do you remember bringing one home 
last year, Artin? It was so fat it could 
scarcely walk. It didn’t seem a bit afraid of 


6o Our Little Armenian Cousin 


us. And how it did like almonds and raisins ! 
It would not eat anything else so long as we 
fed it with those.” 

“ It’s ever so much more fun watching jer¬ 
boas,” answered Artin. “ They are so lively 
and they get over the ground so fast. 

“ At first you would think a jerboa had only 
two legs. The front ones are very short, and, 
besides, while the little fellow is making his long 
leaps, he holds them close against his breast.” 

“ I don’t see how he can leap with his hind 
legs alone,” said Mariam, thoughtfully. 

“ His tail helps him, I suppose. It is very 
long, and he holds it out straight behind him. 

“ I learned at school about the kangaroos 
that live in Australia. They are ever so much 
larger than jerboas, but their fore legs are very 
short, and they move with long leaps just like 
them. I think they must belong to the same 
family of animals.” 

“Yes, I suppose so. There is another 


Queer Animals 


61 


queer thing about a jerboa that I don’t believe 
you know, Mariam. It gets its meals in the 
night-time, although it comes outdoors to bask 
in the sunlight in the daytime.” 

cc It is very strong, I know that. It some¬ 
times makes a hole through a thin layer of 
rock with its sharp claws and teeth. But 
come, Artin, I’m tired of talking about ani¬ 
mals. Let us go home and ask grandma to 
tell us a story.” 

When they got back, they found grandma 
was busy helping their mother with the house¬ 
work. But great-grandma sat knitting by the 
fireplace. She looked up with a smile as the 
children bounded into the room, and said: 

“ Well, little ones, what now ? ” 

“ Please tell us a story. We will be very 
quiet,” answered Artin. 

“ Dear me ! dear me ! As though I could 
spin stories at any time out of the material in 
my poor head.” 


62 Our Little Armenian Cousin 


“ But you always can. I never knew you 
to fail,” said Mariam, putting her arms around 
the old lady's neck. 

“ Well, let me see. I can’t think of any¬ 
thing just now, except the story of the first 
Christian king in the world.” 

tc We’ve heard it before, but we would like 
it again,” said Artin. 

“ Very well, then. We must go back to the 
life of the Lord Jesus and of his wonderful 
works among men, — of his healing the leper, 
restoring sight to the blind, of his making the 
limbs of cripples straight and strong. 

“ His fame spread through all the country 
round, and when King Abgar sent envoys into 
the Roman Empire, they brought back word 
of Jesus and his works. 

“ King Abgar was a heathen at that time. 
He was suffering from a dreadful disease. 
There did not seem to be any hope of his 
getting well. When his messengers returned 


Queer Animals 63 

to Armenia with the news of Jesus’ power, he 
was greatly interested. 

“There are legends in some of our books 
that Abgar wrote a letter to Jesus begging the 
Saviour to come to Armenia and lay his hands 
upon him. The legend goes on to say that 
Jesus directed one of his disciples to write 
Abgar an answer saying it was impossible for 
him to come. 

“Then the messenger asked Jesus to allow 
an artist whom he had brought to paint his 
picture. But when the artist tried to copy 
the Master’s beautiful face, his hand failed 
him. He could do nothing. 

“The Master saw this. He took a towel 
and pressed it against his face. Then he 
handed it to the messenger. Lo, and be¬ 
hold! the likeness of Jesus’ face was printed 
on the towel. 

“It was carried to Abgar, and as he looked 
upon it his sickness left him. 


6 \ Our Little Armenian Cousin 

“ Of course, this is only a legend, children. 
We cannot say it is a true story. But our 
history does tell us that Jesus’ apostles visited 
Armenia after their Lord’s death. Abgar be¬ 
lieved in them, and so did many of his people, 
who gave up their heathen belief and became 
Christians.” 

c< Why aren’t there kings in Armenia any 
more?” asked Mariam. 

<c It is more than five hundred years, my 
child, since the last of our kings ruled over us. 
He was Levon VI., and his queen’s name was 
Catherine. Armenia was overrun by fierce 
enemies. They came from Egypt, and had 
the same belief as the Turks who now rule 
over us. They were Mohammedans. 

“ They came in such numbers that our peo¬ 
ple could do nothing. They burned the vil¬ 
lages and cities. They killed men, women, 
and children. They spared no person or 
thing. They made a desert of the country. 


Queer Animals 


65 


“ They made prisoners of the king and 
his family. They carried them to Egypt. 
After awhile, the ruler of Spain took pity on 
them. He offered valuable presents to their 
conquerors to free them. He was success¬ 
ful. 

“After that, Levon visited Jerusalem and 
different countries of Europe. He died in 
Paris, and was buried with great honour. His 
body was clothed in royal robes of white. An 
open crown was laid upon his head, and a 
golden sceptre was placed in his hand. He 
was the last king of Armenia.” 

The old lady spoke the last words slowly 
and sadly. But in a moment more she smiled 
at the children, saying: 

“We must take what comes to us with 
patient hearts, my dears. The Lord’s will 
must be done. I am tired of talking, though. 
Run out into the sunshine and play. Watch 
the birds that have begun to come among us 


66 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

after the long winter, and see if you can find 
me some pretty wild flowers.” 

She bent down and kissed the children, and 
they left her alone with her knitting. 


CHAPTER VII. 


SIGHTS IN THE GREAT CITY 

“Yes, you may go,” Artin’s father prom¬ 
ised. “ I shall be away several days, for I 
have a good deal of business in the city. But 
you have been a good boy, and you ought to 
have a little pleasure. So you may ask your 
mother to get you ready.” 

The next morning the bullocks were hitched 
to a clumsy cart with two wheels, and Artin 
and his father started for the city. 

The little boy was dressed in much the same 
way as his father. He wore baggy trousers 
and a long, loose jacket. It was made of 
wadded cotton, and was quite thick. The 
sides were split up, making a sort of apron 

both in front and behind. He wore slippers 

67 


68 Our Little Armenian Cousin 


on his feet, and a close-fitting cap on his 
head. 

“He is the very picture of his father/’ the 
neighbours all said. “ He is a bright boy, too, 
and will do well in business when he grows 
up.” 

“ Good-bye, good-bye,” called Mariam, as 
Artin waved his hand to her, and the bullocks 
trotted off down the rough road. 

The heavy cart was seldom used, except in 
going about the village, so it was quite a 
change for the bullocks as well as for the 
farmer’s little son. 

As they drove along, the father told Artin 
about the different parts of the country which 
the boy had never seen. He told him of the 
rich vineyards where luscious grapes were 
raised. He described the gardens where 
melons grew to be very large. 

“ Why, Artin, I have seen a camel whose 
load was made up of only two watermelons. 


Sights in the Great City 



One family could not use the whole of such a 
melon as those. 

“ Then there are parts of our country where 
the silkworm feeds on the mulberry leaves, 
and makes its wonderful cocoon. 

“ We raise the best of wheat and corn, and 
besides all these things we have cotton and 
tobacco growing in plenty, without stepping 
beyond our borders.” 

“ We could have everything we wish to eat 
and wear without asking for anything from 
any other country, couldn’t we? ” said Artin. 

“Yes, indeed. But the Turkish rule is a 
hard one, and our people are so unhappy they 
do not take as much interest in their gardens 
as they once did.” 

“ Papa, when you have been travelling 
weren’t you ever afraid of brigands? I have 
heard the people in the village tell stories 
about brigands taking travellers by surprise. 
They robbed and killed them.” 


70 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

<c I never had any such adventures myself, 
Artin. But, I must say, our mountain passes 
are not safe from those wicked men. 

“ Most of them are Kurds or Lazis. When 
they have nothing else to do, they leave their 
own homes and cross over into the borders of 
Armenia. They seek the lonely spots in the 
mountain passes and lie in wait for travellers. 
They rob them, torture them, and sometimes 
even kill them, as I have already said.” 

“ But the Sultan’s soldiers are all through 
our country. Why don’t they drive out the 
brigands ? ” 

“ The Sultan doesn’t care what they do, 
Artin. Besides, he is probably glad if he 
hears of the brigands killing any Armenians. 
The Sultan is a bad, bad man. When I was 
a little boy like you he had a war with Russia. 

“ Before it began the Sultan called a meet¬ 
ing of his leading men. He asked them what 
they thought about such a war. They knew 


Sights in the Great City 71 

he wished it, so no one dared to speak against 
it, except one brave, wise man. 

“ He told the ruler this story: 

“ c Once upon a time there was a miser. 
The king was displeased with him, and gave 
him the choice of three things. He must eat 
five pounds of raw onions at one meal; and 
he must eat nothing else with them. Or, he 
must have five hundred lashes of the whip on 
his bare back. Or, he must pay the king five 
hundred dollars. 

“ c The miser thought it all over. He could 
not bear to give up so much money. Neither 
did he believe he could live through such a 
terrible flogging. So he said, cc I will eat the 
onions.” 

“ ‘ But after he had eaten a part of them, he 
became so sick he was not able to swallow any 
more. Then he made up his mind to take the 
whipping. 

“ c When he had taken about a hundred of 


72 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

the lashes, he began to see that the whole 
of them would kill him. He was forced, at 
last, to pay the money. So the greedy miser, 
who had a choice of three evils in the 
beginning, ended by taking all three of 
them.’ 

“Now, my son, what do you suppose the 
wise man’s story meant? It was this: 

“ If the Sultan went to war with Russia, he 
would lose many soldiers to begin with. In 
the next place, he would be sure to lose a part 
of his empire. He would end by having to 
pay large sums of money to his conqueror. 

“He was very angry with the wise man who 
had told him this story. He did not take his 
advice, but began the war. And it all turned 
out as the honest man had said. 

“ Did you ever hear what the people in 
other countries call the Sultan, Artin ? ” his 
father went on. “ They speak of him as the 
c Sick Man of Europe.’ ” 


Sights in the Great City 73 

Artin and his father had now been several 
hours on the way and they had almost reached 
the city gates. 

“ See those children/’ said Artin, pointing 
ahead. 

A mule was moving at a slow pace over the 
road. It was no wonder, for he had a heavy 
load. A woman was sitting on his back and 
two little children were hanging in baskets 
fastened on either side of the saddle. 

“ The road is so rough that the children 
cannot be comfortable,” said Artin’s father. 

Just then the mule floundered in the mud. 
The baskets were jostled so roughly that one 
of the children tumbled out and fell head-fore¬ 
most into the mud. 

Artin jumped from the cart and, running 
ahead, picked up the screaming child. Its 
poor little face was black with dirt. Its hair 
was plastered with mud. 

The mother thanked him, and, after tucking 


74 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

the little one into its basket, went on her 
journey. She was a pretty woman, with large 
black eyes and rosy cheeks. But her face was 
almost hidden by the veil which Armenian 
women wear when they are outdoors. 

Her bright red cloak, reaching almost to 
her ankles, was wrapped closely around her 
body. Her large baggy trousers could hardly 
be seen. She was dressed in the same manner 
as Artin’s mother and all the other women he 
knew. 

His people do not change their fashions from 
year to year, like their American cousins. 
They resemble many other Eastern people in 
their clothing. The style of their grandmothers 
and great-grandmothers is good enough for 
them. 

By this time, the farmer and his son were 
entering the city. 

Erzeroum was at one time a fortress, and 
even now it is surrounded by walls. There 



IN ERZEROUM 















Sights in the Great City 75' 

were numbers of people moving along the 
streets. They belonged to different races, for 
many of them had come here from Persia, 
Turkey, and other countries, to live among the 
Armenians. 

Most of them were dressed very gaily, and 
Artin was kept busy admiring the bright scarlet 
robes, the jackets embroidered with gold, and 
the robes of brilliant green and white. 

A procession of camels with their drivers 
came along with slow and swaying tread. The 
beasts seemed very patient under their heavy 
burdens. 

“ Did you ever ride on a camel, father?” 
asked Artin. 

“ When I was a little boy about your age, 
Artin, I tried it. I shall never forget how 
sick I was after five minutes on the creature’s 
back. Of course, you have noticed how the 
camel walks. He first throws forward both 
legs on one side of his body, then those on the 


76 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

other side. This makes a swinging, sideways 
motion which at first is unpleasant. 

“ The second time I tried to ride one, I did 
not mind it as much as at first.” 

“You had to be careful when you took your 
seat on its back. I know that,” said Artin. 
“ I have often watched camels get up from the 
ground. They raise their hind legs first, and 
they do it in such a sudden, jerky way that the 

rider will be thrown off unless he is used to it 

* 

and on the lookout.” 

“Artin, I wish you to look at that beauti¬ 
ful church ahead of us. Our people are very 
proud of it. Do you see the fine stone slabs 
on the roof and around the doorways ? 

“ Cut stone is very expensive, and there are 
few good masons who prepare it. So it hap¬ 
pened that our priests thought of a new way 
to get it. They said to the people, c The 
tombstones of your dead friends do them no 
good. But they would be of great help in 


Sights in the Great City 77 


building the church. It would be a fine thing 
if each one of you should give us one of those 
tombstones/ 

cc The people were delighted with the idea. 
Many of them brought the stones on their 
own backs.” 

“ It is a beautiful church,” said Artin. “ I 
think it is the finest thing I have seen in 
the city. I hate the sight of those Turkish 
mosques. I suppose the Turks think all 
those little towers and spires are very pretty, 
but I don’t like them.” 

“ There is a street writer,” said the father. 
He pointed to a man sitting on a carpet in the 
shade of a house. His legs were crossed 
under him. He was writing a letter for a 
Turkish woman who stood beside him. 

“ I like to watch him,” said Artin. “ He 
keeps the paper flat on the palm of his hand 
and writes with that pointed stick. I am glad I 
know how to do my own letter-writing, though.” 


78 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

“Yes, Artin. Our people think more of 
learning than the lazy Turks. I do not wish 
you to be ignorant when you grow up. You 
must study your lessons well and be faithful to 
them.” 

“ I should like to be a trader when I grow 
up,” said Artin, as he looked curiously at the 
storekeepers sitting by their goods. 

The stores were quite different from those 
in America. Many of them had no fronts at 
all. Can you imagine the lower story of a 
house with no wall facing the street ? Then 
you can picture the store where Artin and his 
father stopped to trade. 

The shopkeeper sat on a mat with his goods 
all around him. If the day had been stormy 
he would have been wrapped up in a blanket. 
But the sun was shining brightly, and the 
weather was warm. He was quite comfortable 
without any extra covering. 

He was slowly sipping a cup of tea. He 


Sights in the Great City 79 

acted for all the world as though he had noth¬ 
ing to do but enjoy himself. 

As Artin’s father got out of the cart and 
came up to him, the storekeeper scarcely lifted 
his eyes. He did not seem to care whether he 
sold his goods or not. 

£C Another of those lazy Turks,” whispered 
the father to his son. Then he stepped up 
to the trader and asked to see his wares. 

The Armenian did not act hurried 
or anxious. Oh, no, that would not have 
done at all. It would have made the 
Turk charge too great a price for the 
goods. As it was, the man asked far more 
than the things were worth. Yes, twice as 
much. 

Artin’s father curled up his lip and turned 
to go. At the same time he said, cc I will pay 
you half the sum. But I don’t care very 
much for the cloth, anyway.” 

He left the store, and Artin followed close 


80 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

behind. When they were about to step into 
the cart, the trader called out: 

“ Well, well, it is too little. It is too little. 
It will ruin me to sell my goods so cheap. 
But you may have the cloth at your own 
price.” 

The farmer went back and made his pur¬ 
chase. When they were once more on their 
way down the street, he said: 

“ That is the only way to trade, Artin. If 
the storekeepers think you don’t care, they 
will sell their goods at fair prices. But if 
you are eager, they will make you pay too 
much. Yes, yes, too much altogether.” 

“ Look, father! Isn’t that a beautiful 
bracelet ? ” Artin pointed to a different-looking 
store from the one where they had bought the 
cloth. The front was closed up, and the tiny 
windows were covered with oiled paper. 

One of the windows, however, was open, and 
Artin could just see a hand holding up a deli- 


Sights in the Great City 81 

cate silver bracelet in the opening. The store¬ 
keeper inside hoped to tempt the passers-by. 

“ I would like to take that home to mother,” 
said Artin. “ How finely it is worked.” 

“ Not to-day, my son. We must be saving 
of our money. No one knows what may 
happen. Cruel things are being done in our 
country. We may yet be forced to leave it 
and join our friends in America. It is not the 
time to buy bracelets.” 

After he had bought whatever he needed, 
the farmer drove on till he came to an inn. 
Artin called the building a khan. 

“We will put up the oxen and spend the 
night here,” the boy’s father told him. “ I 
wish to see some of my friends in the city.” 

Just as they were entering the inn, they 
heard a strange noise a little way down the road. 

“ It is a caravan and it is coming in this 
direction,” said Artin. “ Camels cry in such a 
strange way it always startles me.” 


82 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

“ The poor creatures are tired and thirsty. 
They have caught sight of a drinking-trough 
and are longing for water,” answered his father. 

The camels drew near with their driver. 
He was a Persian. He was very dirty and his 
clothes were in rags. 

As the caravan drew up in front of the 
khan, the driver turned and said something to 
the camels. They went down on their knees 
with a grunt. Then down came their hind 
legs. They had been trained to obey their 
master’s voice instantly, and, although he spoke 
few words to them, they seemed to understand 
exactly what he wished them to do. 

“ They have come all the way from Bagdad,” 
the innkeeper told Artin. “ And they are going 
to carry their loads to the seacoast on the 
north. Then their burdens will be lifted from 
their backs and placed on board the ships that 
sail across the sea to Europe.” 

“ Poor camels ! They look old and tired. 


Sights in the Great City 83 

Their lives are hard. How wise they seem ! ” 
said the little boy, as he threw himself down 
on a couch and was soon fast asleep. 

And what was Artin’s father doing all this 
evening? He was going from place to place 
among his friends and trying to find some one 
who would buy his farm. 

Can you guess the reason ? 

Ever since the visit of the Americans, the 
farmer and his wife had been talking together 
about a new home across the ocean. 

Sad things were happening in Armenia. 
Many men and women lost their lives through 
no fault of their own. And the Turkish ruler 
had power to do with the people as he pleased. 

It was hard, very hard, indeed. Yet the 
more the farmer thought about it, the wiser it 
seemed to take his family to America. 

cc Artin and Mariam are so young they will 
not be homesick. But it will not be easy for 
my good wife,” thought the farmer. “ As for 


84 Our Little Armenian Cousin 

my mother and my dear old grandmother, I 
do not know what to do. I fear the change 
would kill them.” 

When he spoke to them about it, both of the 
old women said, cc No, no, we cannot leave 
our country. No matter what comes, we will 
stay in Armenia. But you must go and take 
your wife and children. America is great and 
good. You will all be happy there.” 

Artin had an uncle who lived in Erzeroum, 
and it was settled that the old women should 
now make their home with him. 

All this time the children knew nothing of 
the new plans. 

But when the business was done and the 
farmer started home with his little boy, he told 

t 

him that the farm was sold and that he would 
soon leave beautiful Armenia and sail far away 
on a great steamer. 

“ It is a secret,” said his father. “ You 
must not speak of it to any one. We must get 


Sights in the Great City 85 

away as quietly as possible, or our rulers may 
prevent it.” 

Artin was both glad and sorry. It would be 
great fun to sail on the ocean which he had 
never yet even seen. There would be many 
new things in the strange country of America. 

When Mariam heard the news she went up 
on the housetop with her brother, and both 
children began to cry. 

“ Our pretty sheep ! ” said the little girl. 
“ We must say good-bye to them all! ” 

“ And the dogs and cats,” said Artin. 
“ Father says we must leave them behind.” 

“ But we will make new friends in that 
beautiful America, and I hope mother will stop 
looking sad and frightened there,” said Mariam, 
drying her tears. 


THE END. 


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Down in Dixie. 

A fascinating story for boys and girls, of a family of 
Alabama children who move to Florida and grow up in 
the South. 


By MARIAN W. WILDMAN 

Loyalty Island. 

An account of the adventures of four children and 
their pet dog on an island, and how they cleared their 
brother from the suspicion of dishonesty. 

Theodore and Theodora. 

This is a story of the exploits and mishaps of two mis¬ 
chievous twins, and continues the adventures of the 
interesting group of children in “ Loyalty Island.” 



COSY CORNER SERIES 


7 


By FRANCES HODGES WHITE 

Helena’s Wonderworld. 

A delightful tale of the adventures of a little girl in 
the mysterious regions beneath the sea. 

Aunt Nabby’s Children. 

This pretty little story, touched with the simple humor 
of country life, tells of two children who were adopted 
by Aunt Nabby. 

By MARSHALL SAUNDERS 

For His Country. 

A sweet and graceful story of a little boy who loved 
his country; written with that charm which has endeared 
Miss Saunders to hosts of readers. 

Nita, the Story of an Irish Setter. 

In this touching little book, Miss Saunders shows 
how dear to her heart are all of God’s dumb creatures. 

By OTHER AUTHORS 

Susanne. By Frances J. Delano. 

This little story will recall in sweetness and appealing 
charm the work of Kate Douglas Wiggin and Laura E. 
Richards. 

The Great Scoop. By Molly Elliott 
Seawell. 

A capital tale of newspaper life in a big city, and of a 
bright, enterprising, likable youngster employed thereon. 

John Whopper. 

The late Bishop Clark’s popular story of the boy who 
fell through the earth and came out in China, with a 
new introduction by Bishop Potter. 




8 


L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 


The Little Christmas Shoe. By Jane 

P. Scott-Woodruff. 

A touching story of Yule-tide. 

Wee Dorothy, by Laura updegraff. 

A story of two orphan children, the tender devotion of 
the eldest, a boy, for his sister being its theme and set¬ 
ting. With a bit of sadness at the beginning, the story 
is otherwise bright and sunny, and altogether wholesome 
in every way. 

The King of the Golden River: a 

Legend of Stiria. By John Ruskin. 

Written fifty years or more ago, and not originally 
intended for publication, this little fairy tale soon became 
known and made a place for itself. 

A Child’s Garden of Verses. By r. l. 

Stevenson. 

Mr. Stevenson’s little volume is too well known to 
need description. It will be heartily welcomed in this 
new and attractive edition. 

Rab and His Friends. By Dr. John 

Brown. 

Doctor Brown’s little masterpiece is too well known 
to need description. The dog Rab is loved by all. 





BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


THE LITTLE COLONEL BOOKS 

(Trade Mark.) 

By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON 

Each, i vol., large i2mo, cloth decorative, per vol. $1.50 

The Little Colonel Stories. 

(Trade Mark.) 

Illustrated. 

Being three “ Little Colonel ” stories in the Cosy 
Corner Series, “ The Little Colonel,” “ Two Little 
Knights of Kentucky,” and “ The Giant Scissors,” put 
into a single volume. 

The Little Colonel’s House Party. 

(Trade Mark.) 

Illustrated by Louis Meynell. 

The Little Colonel’s Holidays. 

(Trade Mark.) 

Illustrated by L. J. Bridgman. 

The Little Colonel’s Hero. 

(Trade Mark.) 

Illustrated by E. B. Barry. 

The Little Colonel at Boarding 

(Trade Mark.) 

School. 

Illustrated by E. B. Barry. 

The Little Colonel in Arizona. 

(Trade Mark.) 

Illustrated by E. B. Barry. 

The Little Colonel’s Christmas 

(Trade Mark.) 

Vacation. 

Illustrated by E. B. Barry. 

Since the time of “ Little Women,” no juvenile heroine 
has been better beloved of her child readers than Mrs. 
Johnston’s “ Little Colonel.” 



2 


L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 


Joel: a Boy of Galilee. 

By Annie Fellows Johnston. Illustrated by L. J. 
Bridgman. 

New illustrated edition, uniform with the Little Colonel 
Books, i vol., large i2mo, cloth decorative . $1.50 

A story of the time of Christ, which is one of the 
author’s best-known books, and which has been trans¬ 
lated into many languages, the last being Italian. 

Asa Holmes; or, at the cross-roads, a 

sketch of Country Life and Country Humor. By 
Annie Fellows Johnston. With a frontispiece 
by Ernest Fosbery. 

Large 16mo, cloth, gilt top . . . „ $ 1.00 

“ ‘ Asa Holmes; or, At the Cross-Roads ’ is the most de¬ 
lightful, most sympathetic and wholesome book that has been 
published in a long while. The lovable, cheerful, touching 
incidents, the descriptions of persons and things are wonder¬ 
fully true to nature.”— Boston Times. 

In the Desert of Waiting: The Legend 
of Camelback Mountain. 

The Three Weavers : A Fairy Tale for 
Fathers and Mothers as Well as for Their 
Daughters. By Annie Fellows Johnston. 

Each one volume, tall i6mo, cloth decorative. $0.60 

There has been a constant demand for publication in 
separate form of these two stories, which were originally 
included in two of the “ Little Colonel ” books, and the 
present editions, which are very charmingly gotten up, 
will be delightful and valued gift books for both old and 
young. 

The Three Weavers ’ is the daintiest fairy-story I 
ever read,” wrote one critic, and the Louisville Post 
calls “ In the Desert of Waiting” a “gem, an exquisite 
bit of work. Mrs. Johnston is at her best in this web of 
delicate fancy, woven about the deep centre truth.” 
Those who have read the stories as they originally 
appeared will be glad to find them published individu¬ 
ally. 




BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


3 


Little Lady Marjorie. By Francis Mar¬ 
garet Fox, author of “ Farmer Brown and the 
Birds,” etc. 

i2mo, cloth, illustrated.$1.50 

A charming story for children between the ages of ten 
and fifteen years, with both heart and nature interest. 

The Sandman : His Farm Stories. By 
William J. Hopkins. With fifty illustrations by 
Ada Clendenin Williamson. 

One vol., large i2mo, decorative cover . . $1.50 

“An amusing, original book, written for the benefit of 
children not more than six years old, is, ‘ The Sandman : His 
Farm Stories.’ It should be one of the most popular of the 
year’s books for reading to small children.” — Buffalo Express. 

“ Mothers and fathers and kind elder sisters who take the 
little ones to bed and rack their brains for stories will find this 
book a treasure.” — Cleveland Leader. 

The Sandman : More Farm Stories. By 
William J. Hopkins, author of “The Sandman: 
His Farm Stories.” 

Library i2mo, cloth decorative, fully illustrated, $1.50 

Mr. Hopkins’s first essay at bedtime stories has met 
with such approval that this second book of “ Sandman ” 
tales has been issued for scores of eager children. Life 
on the farm, and out-of-doors, will be portrayed in his 
inimitable manner, and many a little one will hail the 
bedtime season as one of delight. 

A Puritan Knight Errant. By Edith 

Robinson, author of “ A Little Puritan Pioneer,” “ A 
Little Puritan’s First Christmas,” “A Little Puritan 
Rebel,” etc. 

Library i2mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . $1.50 

The charm of style and historical value of Miss 
Robinson’s previous stories of child life in Puritan days 
have brought them wide popularity. Her latest and 
most important book appeals to a large juvenile public. 
The “ knight errant ” of this story is a little Don Quixote, 
whose trials and their ultimate outcome will prove 
deeply interesting to their reader. 




4 


L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 


The Rival Campers ; or, the adventures 
of Henry Burns. By Ruel P. Smith. 
i2mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . . $1.50 

Here is a book which will grip and enthuse every boy 
who is lucky enough to secure it. It is the story of a 
party of typical American lads, courageous, alert, and 
athletic, who spend a summer camping on an island off 
the Maine coast. Every boy reader will envy them their 
adventures, — yacht-racing, canoeing, and camping, — 
which culminate in their discovery and capture of a gang 
of daring robbers; but the influence of wholesome, out¬ 
door life in the development of manly character is well 
brought out. Henry Burns, the leader of the boys, is a 
character in juvenile fiction of whom we are likely to 
hear again. 


The Young Section Hand ; or, The Ad¬ 
ventures of Allan West. By Burton E. 
Stevenson, author of “ The Marathon Mystery,” etc. 
i2mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . . $1.50 

Every branch of railroading fascinates the average 
American boy. The shops, the telegraph and signal 
systems, the yard and track work, the daily life of 
danger which confronts every employee, whether he be 
the ordinary workman or the engineer of a limited ex¬ 
press train, and the mysterious “ office ” which controls 
every branch of the work, — each holds out its allure¬ 
ments to him. 

In this story Mr. Stevenson’s hero is just the right 
sort, a manly lad of sixteen who is given a chance as a 
section hand on a big Western railroad, and whose ex¬ 
periences are as real as they are thrilling. He is perse¬ 
cuted by the discharged employee whose place he took, 
and becomes involved in complications which nearly 
cause his undoing; but his manliness and courage are 
finally proven, and the reward is his for duty done at 
any cost. 




4 


JUL 21 (905 


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 













































